


A city worth saving

by Wassersaeufer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:51:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wassersaeufer/pseuds/Wassersaeufer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the gigantic city of King's Landing, only one man stands between the people and those preying upon them: The Direwolf. But when he dies, someone has to take up the mantle and keep on fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. The Direwolf - Eddard Stark

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the start of another AU of mine. I don't think I will ever end it, but who knows. I will add more characters over time, when they make their debut, and I have so far no idea where this will go. But well, I'm having fun with it and I hope you too will do so.
> 
> The chapters will not necessarily be in chronological order, I will write them how my muse will struck me, so bear with me please.

King's Landing. A city of uncounted millions. A city of horror and sin and madness. Gangs in the slums, crime in court, corruption in city council. Drug money, dirty, bloody money, going from hand to hand until it lands in the bank accounts of the monsters. Daily young, bright people die and old, broken people wither away. Rape, murder, theft, robbery, violence and madness.

Cold, uncaring towers of steel and beton rising up in the air as if they could rise out of the horror they are coming from. In the bars and taverns men and women alike are drinking away their sorrows, while in the high end establishments coke is sniffed out of the navel of an underaged prostitue before vomiting out champagner worth a new suit into a toilet decorated with silver and gold. In the alleys orphans and junkies freeze to death, pimps beating their women nearly to death, uncaring police officers walking past.

It was sickening.

From his city loft he could see most of the inner city. It would have been a very good refugee for any one else, safe and high up in the air, clean and homely. He had to think Cat for the comfort he had in this four walls, all the decor was there because she had insisted on it. She had said that otherwise it wouldn't be a home.

And it wasn't one.

Not for him.

It was his office away from the office. The other office.

Other men in his position, other multi billion dollar heavy men owning other corporations, would use such a loft as an escape place. Or a place to bring the secretary to fuck while the wife is at home with the kids waiting while the husband works overtime. Not him.

Not Eddard Stark.

Not boring, brooding, weak Ned Stark.

Not only did he love his wife, Cat, way too much for such a thing, this loft had another use. It was his place to hide away secrets, yes. But not such secrets as other men.

"Yes, I know...", he softly said into the telephone, his voice heavy with caring and tenderness. As if he was speaking to a petite animal, trying to shooth it. "Cat... say the kids I love them... I'll be home at the weekend." A short pause, then he added. "I love you too."

There was a moment of silence, before he closed the phone and put it down onto the nightstand. He took another few minutes for himself to set his mind at ease, to push away the thoughts of his family, of his children who he saw way to seldom and of the warm bed with Cat in it. Then, finally, he stood up from the bed he had sat on, a cold bed, and made his way to the secret compartment he had build into one of the walls.

It slid open without a single sound and revealed his arsenal.

Gauntlets with claws. Mask with sensory adjustments for eyes and ears. Body armor. Utility belt.

With routined movements he put on the undershirt and pants, made of a fine kevlar weave. His mind wandered while he dressed with movements which spoke of years of experience and routine. His mind wandered to the death of his oldest friend, Robert, whose death had plunged the city into chaos once more. The major dead and hundreds of different men claiming to be the killer. The Lannisters grabbing for power in city hall. The Greyjoys grabbing for power in the shadows. The Baratheon brothers going at each other. And people getting killed between all this.

He felt sick to the stomach.

Sometimes he felt like he was fighting a tidal wave with his fists only. Perhaps he was.

-

Ilyn Payne was a killer. Not a murderer, but a professional killer. A very good one at that. Neither pride nor arrogance nor greed were failings of him. His preferred way of killing was the knife, but he had no qualms using any other way too. When his new boss demanded the death of the Direwolf, he delivered.

He delivered by blowing up an entire city block, burying the so called protector of the people under the rubble.

-

Catelyn Stark woke up when her phone rang. Immediately she was wide awake. A feeling of dread overcame her, like always when the phone rang. Still she grabbed it and sat up while doing so. "Yes?"

She listened to the voice on the other side of the line. Finally she said: "Yes... Yes I understand. Thank you."

With her face ashen she put down the phone, remaining sitting upright for several moments. Then she broke down and began to scream.


	2. 2. Jon Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow had found his way out of the world of his uncle, only to find his way back into it once more. He is always the first to know.

He was the first to know. He had always been the first to know everything. He had understood why Theon had to live with them before Robb or Sansa or even his aunt Cately understood. He had found out about the secret of his uncle before Robb had been told. He had known about Joffrey being bad for Sansa before she herself had seen it. Sometimes it was good. Sometimes it was a curse.

When he had left the Winterfell estate to live in a flat on his own he had tried to get away from all this, away from the fear of never seing his uncle again, away from the secrets and the lies. It had worked for exactly three days, before he had called Robb and asked if everything was alright.

It got better when he was accepted at the academy, though only barely. He met new friends and stepped out of the shadow of his mysterious father and his immense uncle. And right when he thought he was away from it all... he got pulled back into it.

It was, sort of, the fault of Ygritte. Beautiful, spunky, spitefull Ygritte who sold her body for the next shot. His colleagues called her a whore and used her like trash, throwing her away after using her, laughing at her. He wanted to help her so desperately that he got into a shouting match with his superior officer and got nearly thrown from the force. So he threw caution into the wind and asked his uncle for help.

-

He was in his apartment when he heard of it.

Most nights he did not sleep and kept himself upright with energy drinks, coffee and a strict diet of pizza and junk food. He had work to do, he could not sleep. Several chat windows are open all the time, several phones ringing often, information hoarded from dozens of sources.

He had just finished a long phone conversation with one of his informants, this one a young street orphan called Hot Pie, when a small light goes off and one of his three computer screens begins to blink in an alarm red.

"Oh shit...", he whispered breathlessly, his mind already working at high alert, trying to find out what was wrong with his uncle. It was the safety line, the last resort. A small biomonitor was build into his uncles equipment and Jon got the feed from it, in case something drastic happens. And something drastic did happen.

He stares at the computer screen for nearly half an hour, not moving an inch, after the line has gone flat. After he had checked the sources. After he had called Sam and told him to inform him as soon as there are news. When his yellow phone rings, the one he uses to get Sam's calls, he takes it without a single sound.

Sam only says: "I'm sorry."

Then the line went dead.

Moving like a robot he puts the small mobile down, next to the other thirteen. Then, still not raising his gaze from the screen, he takes his headset and put's it back onto his head, dialing the number of his uncle's and aunt's home adress.

It rings once, then twice, then he hears his aunt. "Yes?"

"Uncle Catelyn... It's me... Jon..." He swallows once, then he hesitates. How could he... He decides to push onwards and just do it. "There was an incident." A pause. Then he adds: "I'm sorry."

There is silence on the line for a long time. Finally he asks: "Are you still there aunt Catelyn?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes I understand. Thank you."

He cuts the line at that point.

It is that position, staring at the screen, in which Val and Sam find him the next morning.


	3. 3. Stannis Baratheon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the last honest judge in a city full of scum can be frustrating. Stannis Baratheon is that man. And it is only a question of time, before he snaps.

Live a little. Have fun. Forget your work. Gods, you're so dull.

The memories hit him like a sledgehammer as he was about to shave. He stopped in the middle of the motion and stared at his reflection. What was it that brought up such memories? The cologne, a gift from Robert to his last nameday? The shaving, something that Robert had showed him how to do? He had no idea.

Live a little. Have fun.

That's what his brother had always told him. To live. To have fun. To enjoy life. He snorted and felt the need to hit something. Somethat that could hit back. As there was nothing there to fight back, he instead broke the mirror with his fist.

His teeth clenched, nothing unusual there, he watched his blood drop down into the sink, dropping into the water and mixing with the shaving cream already there. He doesn't blink. He doesn't move. He just watches. It doesn't even hurt, not really, only a numb feeling in his hand is there. His whole body feels... numb.

"Stannis?"

It is Asha standing in the door, dressed in one of his dark shirts way too big for her. Most likely nothing underneath. He don't know if he is happy about her being there. He is at least not uncomfortable with the idea. That is enough for now. Without her the apartment is too cold. Now it is only a bit cold.

He turns his head slightly towards her. Otherwise he didn't react at all. He clenches his teeth.

For a few moments they look at each other, before she steps forward and begins to clean his hand, pulling out the glas from the wound and then binding it. She doesn't speak while doing so and he is thankful for that.

-

It is another mind numbing, horrible day. Two doctors have practically killed a young mother, turned her practically into trash because of carelesness. They are guilty, he knows it. They know it. Everyone knows it. And still they will walk. Because the evidence is suddenly gone. Because witnesses change their statements. Because the copy of the original record he has to disallow in court because of a decision another judge had made several years ago in another trial.

They will walk away with their pockets full of money and free and a young woman will slowly wither away in a coma because these two men cared more about boning the nurse or sniffing coke in an expensive club than about their patients. 

He clenches his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.

Last week he had to let a child molester walk away because key evidence, the small boy's shoe, was found in the mans car without a warrant. Several month's ago the witnesses in a murder trial vanished and the son of a local night club owner walked free despite him already confessing raping and murdering the woman.

It is long past time to go home, everyone else had done so, and he still sat in his office, staring at the wall. Robert was dead. Dead like their parents. Renly was away, gods know's where he had gone off to. And he was sitting here, judge Stannis Baratheon, helpless to do his duty. To do what was right. To do the law.

Sometimes he wished the Direwolf would snap and kill them all. It was useless to wish such things, the Direwolf was dead. There was a small shrine to him in the worst part of town, fiercely protected by the local street kids and slummers and even a few gang-bangers. He had thrown the man into prison immediately if he ever had the chance to do so, even if he thought the man had the right idea.

But because something is just, something isn't necessarily right. Because law and justice are two different things.

He knew. He served the law. He knew the different better than anyone else.

The lights are off in his office and the only illumination comes from the moon shining through his window. The shadows are playing tricks on his mind and he can nearly see Robert standing there, laughing at him and calling him dull and telling him to live for once. Again he feels the urge to hit something.

This time he grabbed his coat and went out looking for something that hit's back.

-

Stannis had been a good boxer on college and university. He had kept in shape and was easily able to fight off a single ganger, even defeating him. Two he also could manage. But six? Or seven? No, not nearly as easily.

He's laying on the ground and his whole body hurts, feet are kicking at him again and again and someone spits at him. They are calling him names but doesn't hear them, all he knows it, that at least he done his duty. There are worse things than that.

And then, suddenly, they don't hit and kick him anymore and one of them screams in pain, only to be silenced quickly. More screaming, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, curses and a weapon going off. He manages to push himself upwards, one of his arms is most likely broken he notices, and tries to see through his blurry vision.

There is something. Or someone. Fighting the thugs.

Two of them are on the ground already, another is holding his arm. Dislocated? Looks like it. The weapon which had been fired a moment ago lies on the ground before the young man, useless now. And the person fighting the thugs is... something else.

It is awe inspiring. It is frightening.

It is horrible to watch.

He, or she, doesn't really look human. Under a dark, dirty hood is hidden a mask of fleshy leather, covering the face completely, bringing up memories of movies like Texas Chainsaw Massacre or the like. The limbs are too frail, too thin, and they move in ways limbs should not be able to move without bein dislocated. Yet still...

A jaw is broken. An armbone is splintered. A swung iron pipe is dodge and with a swift kick a knee is ruined. Finally there are seven young man laying on the ground, moaning and groaning in pain. Stannis can barely believe his eyes. Without even a weapon, this guy had not only fought against them, he had crushed them.

"Tell the Red Woman that there will be no more Red Meth in the slums. Tell your friends too."

The voice is raspy and throaty, a device to warp the voice hidden in the mask? Most likely. Stannis manages to get to his feet, making a step towards the man in the cowl and the rags. Yet suddenly he turns towards him and is suddenly directly in front of him. He can smell sewer and filth and it hits him so hard that he wants to retch.

"And you, Judge Baratheon, should take another route home."

Again he clenches his teeth. And then he asks: "How do you know who I am?"

The man in the cowl stares at him with unseen eyes, unnerving him and to be honest, Stannis had never been so afraid in all his live. Yet still he stands there and does not turn away his gaze, he only scowls and stands his ground.

"I know many things. You are Stannis Baratheon, 37 years old, divorced, one daughter he sees every two weekends, lives alone, has an affair with Asha Greyjoy. Judge at city court, one of the last good ones." A short pause. "And stupid. Brave but stupid."

Then he is hit in the face and blacks out.

-

When he wakes up again he is in a hospital bed. It is night. Still? Or again? He can't say. On the hospital chair in the corner is a small teddy bear, the one he had given Shireen to her third birthday. And on his night table a few get well soon cards. As well as a single mobile phone, a filthy one, attached to one of the cards.

He grabs it and though he knows that mobiles are forbidden in a hospital, he starts it. The pin is written on the card in a scribbly hand writing, as well as a single phone number. He hesitates for a second, then he dials it.

For a second he hears nothing, then someone picks up the phone. A raspy breathing could be heard.

"Stannis Baratheon. You are holding a secure mobile phone in your hands. Use only that one to contact me. I will use it to contact you. Do nothing else with it."

"Why have you done that? Why have you given me this phone? And who are you?"

"I am the Freak. It rhymes with... nothing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out completely different from what I had intendet in the beginning. Well, such is life.


	4. 4. Sandor Clegane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every job has it's ups and downs. Sandor's job has more downs than ups. But sometimes there are good moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small scene I thought would be hillarious. Because if Ned Stark is sort of like Batman, then his children will most likely become sort of Robin. And that leads us to this...

Driving around the little shit that was his boss' son was a shitty job. But it paid the bills and it paid them well. And it was better than driving taxi and being pestered about his face. Because then he would lie and tell them some shit about being in the war or something else and some people would give him a higher tip. Most wouldn't. And anyway, this way he did not have to deal with vomit in his car or some useless chit chat.

"Drive the boy where he want's, keep your mouth shut about everything and keep the boy out of trouble."

That had been what Tywin fucking Lannister had told him when he had started the job and though it was Cersei Baratheon-Lannister whose name was written under his paid his pay checks, it was in essence the money of the old lion which he used to buy his groceries.

The driving was the easy part. Keeping the mouth shut he was good at too, he had no one to talk too anyway. But keeping the boy out of trouble.. that was the problem.

Because the little shit was not only a spoiled brat, he was also high on some shit most of the time and dumb as fuck. And he usually got grabby with his girls. Always another girl than before. Dark haired ones, fair haired ones, redheads, dark skin, mocha-coloures skin, caucasian, it didn't really matter, Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister had only one type: Stupid and weak.

When Sandor had driven the boy to the Stark-Residence for the first time, he felt a bit bad about opening the door and allowing Sansa Stark and her boyfriend into the car. He knew that he would have to drink a whole bottle of scotch to forget the face of the girl with a split lip or a black eye or something that evening.

When she squeled on the way back from the movie theater he knew that Joffrey had gotten grabby. Most likely the little shit had sniffed a bit of snow during the movie and was now up for some redhead on his cock. Sandor bit the innard of his mouth and turned up the volume of the stereo.

Upon arriving at Winterfell, the old Stark-Residence, he felt horrible to the stomach. Sansa Stark seemed to be a decent girl and did not deserve such a horrible boyfriend. He got out of the car and opened the door for her to leave the limousine, already imagining her with her hair in a mess, her make-up ruined by her tears and her dress torn.

However she appeared to be rather... smug. "Joffrey, I break up with you", she said in a matter of factly tone, then turning towards Sandor. "You should get a better job."

And with that she strolled away with a grace that seemed unnatural for a woman of her age. Mouth agape Sandor could do nothing else but stare at her retreating back. For several moments he had the feeling as if the world had turned on it's head. And when he took a look at the interior of the backroom... He broke out in laughter immediately upon seeing the beaten up form of Joffrey fucking Baratheon dickhead Lannister.

Seems the little bird had claws.

It was after he drove the little shit to the hospital to get his broken nose, bruised ribs and concussion treated, that he told Cersei Lannister who was hovering at her sons bedside and screaming at the hospital staff like a banshee: "I quit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes place before the other chapters, so during this time Ned Stark is still alive. Not that it really matters though.


	5. 5. Jon Snow II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jon meets his family again for the funeral, things get out of hand.

It was the first time he saw all of his cousins at once again after several months of only casually visiting them. And even then, never had there been everyone home, either Bran had been in the hospital or Sansa had been visiting one of her friends or Robb had been at work or over at Theon's...

He felt a pang of guilt immediately after the memory of his uncles Ward came to his thoughts and tried to push it away as quickly as possible. Theon was still a forbidden topic of conversation with Robb in hearing range, after the hurt and the horror and the tragedy and the young man vanishing from the face of the earth.

The funeral of his uncle had been a horrible thing for him. The coffin had been closed, the corpse too mangled and horrible disfigured to show. Officially because of an accident with his car and burning to death in the wreck. In truth...

It had been a pain in the ass to arrange this, to cover everything. He had done most of the work, together with Sam and Val, trying to spare his aunt the pain to do so. She was hurt enough as it was.

"Thank you for being here", Arya said to him in a corner of the living room, during the funeral reception. His uncles friends and partners were there, even the Lannisters had shown up and the brothers of his uncles long time friend Robert Baratheon, the by now deceased mayor. What had happened to Stannis Baratheon for him to look so beat up? He had decided not to ask and the man had been gone fast enough anyway.

"You're welcome", he finally answered after mulling over the words he could reply. What else could he say? Of course he was there, where else could he be? His family needed him, now more than ever.

There was a near accident when Roose Bolton tried to speak with Robb and got nearly attacked by him in response. And another one when Cersei Lannister approached his aunt and his cousin Sansa and both already nearly killed her with their piercing stares. And another one when Rickon threw a temper tantrum and had to be pulled away by aunt Catelyn before he did any serious damage. Nine year old boys skilled in throwing shuriken and able to break a grown man bones can do a lot of damage when angered.

And when everyone was gone except the family and they had settled down in the living room, things got really out of hand.

There was shouting and crying, sighs and vows.

"I will kill them all. I will kill them and eat their hearts", swore Rickon and got all but slapped by his mother.

"You will do no such thing!", she yelled in a state of panic and sorrow. "I have already lost my husband to this crusade! I will not allow the rest of my family to die for it!"

"This can not go unanswered", Robb replied, trying to sound as level and calm as he could, yet there was a growl hidden under his voice. A dangerous, deep and powerful growl, reminding Jon of a wolf. Of a direwolf. "Father would not want his work go to waste."

"He would want his children save! I will loose none of my children to his mission!"

"You already have", whispered Bran. He was right and everyone knew it.

It was the late evening when Bran and Rickon had long since been put to bed and Arya was, officially at least, also sleeping. She would most likely sitting on her laptop, chatting with this Gendry guy she had the hots for but was not willing to admit it. He had checked out the boy and despite a few run ins with the law, he was of the good sort.

"You sure you do not want to stay the night?", asked Robb as the two of them slowly made their way up to Jon's car. "You know that your old room is still unchanged."

"I know", he answered and tried to smile. He found he could not. "But I think... I think I should go home."

"Perhaps you're right", replied his cousin. A pregnant pause followed. Then he said: "If I-"

"Yes", Jon said immediately without even having to think about it.

"You have not even heard me out", Robb told him with a slightly surprised voice. Not too surprised though, the two of them knew each other quite well, even after living apart for several years.

"I didn't had to. You wanted to know if I would help you if you take up uncles work."

"Yes. Yes, of course you knew", thought Robb out loud and smiled a bit. It looked a bit pained but honest. Then both of them were startled by Robb's mobile ringing.

"Yes?"

_"Robb, Rickon had done something stupid. You better catch him before mother finds out_ ", the voice of Sansa told him.

They caught him half an hour later in a side street kicking the shit out of a drug dealer. At least he had used a mask. If you can count a hoodie and a piece of cloth before his mouth and nose a mask, that is.


	6. 6. Arya Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya thinks she is ready to take the fight to the streets. She is in for a surprise.

She was not weak. She was ready. She was a Stark.

Her mother could not understand, she was no Stark, not by birth. In her blood was no ice. She loved her mother, she really did, but sometimes she felt the urge to slap her. She was just so... so... motherly.

"You are not ready. Wait. You are not ready yet."

Robb was training them, together with Jon. Even Rickon was doing so, allowed by their mother or not, he was doing so. And Arya knew that she was ready to take on the streets.

Nothing serious, just small fries to begin with. No mobsters or psychos like that Ramsay freak, only starter packs to begin with. And anyway, there were others out there who tried to do what her father had done. Gendry and Lommy had told her about word on the streets.

So she had done her mask, a full face mask depicting a snarling wolf, her light body armor and hit the streets. Looking for small fries, for drug dealers and robbers and thieves and perhaps a rapist or two.

Only she found a big one.

The woman was fast, incredibely so. Arya's claw hands and shuriken did not hit even once and she found herself attacked by diamond sharp claws and a kusari-gama swung and wielded so experienced, that she was amazed she was not dead yet. Even her father would have had trouble with that woman.

She was clad in a skin tight, dark blue leather suit and a ninja mask, revealing a very attractive figure. Combined with the grace and ease this woman moved with, Arya felt a small pang of envy in her chest. Being so otherworldy sexy had to be a crime on it self, not even considering that the woman was carrying around a bag with most likely stolen goods.

 _She must be horrible disfigured behind that mask. I bet she is a true hag_ , Arya told herself. Anything else would be a true injustice to her.

No words were exchanged and Arya just tried again and again to attack, ducking and rolling and tumbling like she had learned. She was quick and agile and the fastest of the Pack, what Bran had began to jokingly call their sibling group, and yet she was outmatched every time. A long gash along her upper arm was visible where the sharp claws have ripped right through her kevlar suit, her upper body was most likely covered in bruises where the weighted end of the chain had hit her all too often.

She felt... horrible.

And yet sher snarled and clenched her teeth and threw herself forward once again, unwilling to admit defeat. _I am a wolf. I am a Stark. There is ice in my blood anUNG!!!_

The woman in the skintight ninja suit whirled to the side with a movement that looked just too easy to be true, then her knee found Arya's midsection right in the middle of her leap. All air was pushed out of her lungs and what could have become a graceful landing was turned into a painful meeting between face and roof.

Then she felt a chain being wrapped around her neck and a weight on her back, a knee between her shoulder blades. She knew, if the woman wanted she could just kill her right there.

_Fuck!!_

She was able to make out breathing, rather relaxed breathing considering the fact that they had just spend ten minutes fighting each other, near to her ear. And then the words: "Like I said. You are not ready."

"MOM?!!"

It was two hours later back home in her room, when her mother was once again her mom without a mask and without a weapon in hand, binding her bruises and disinfecting the wound, that Arya finally asked the question running through her mind the entire time.

"Why have you never told us you can be so... so... so kickass?"

A smirk danced across the face of the woman before she answered: "Because I am your mother and I did not want you do be pulled into this world."

"But... but..." Mouth agape Arya stared at her. "You... You are AWESOME!!!"

"No", she replied with a slightly pained smile. "I am a mother of beautiful children, I was the wife to a devoted husband. And I would rather bake pancakes for my horde of little monsters, than risk my life in the name of some idea like honor or justice."

A small pause followed and Arya was about to protest, when her mother hushed her. "Do not speak my little angel. I know that you have many questions and I will answer them... in time. Not tonight. Tonight you sleep and dream of things girls should dream of, no car chases and gangsters and fighting. Because your old mother would like to keep her small girl at least one more night."


	7. 7. Jaime Lannister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime has a bit of bad luck.

He was woken up with ice cold water thrown into his face. He slowly got used to it. "Just five more minutes Mom..."

A brutal punch to the gut was the response to this. Like he had thought it would be, no surprise there. The screwdriver to his face however was new. His new friends temper was gotten worse it seems.

Through one eye, the other was swollen shut, he was able to make out several figures in the dim light standing around him, their faces balled into fists. Very angry fists. "Zleeping beauty avake?", asked the leader of the group, a man known in the criminal underworld only as "The Goat". A man making his blood money with prostitution, human trafficking, drugs and the production of crystal meth.

"I would like eggs and bacon for breakfast please", quipped Jaime. Even after several days of torture, he had not lost his wit. The last remaining pieces of his police uniform hang in tatters at him, his body was covered with bruises and several of his bones were most likely broken. There were burns all over his lower body, especially his most tender region, where his hosts had hooked him up to a car battery.

The screwdriver his his face again.

He would have smiled if he had been able to do so. This was going to be another long day. Or night. He had no idea what time of the day it was or even what day at all, he had lost any sense for time a while ago. Somewhere between the water boarding and the breaking of his fingers most likely.

"I azk you again... Vhere iz your partner?"

"I can honestly say..." That he had no idea. He had lost contact to Brienne, the Wench, a whole three month ago. When he had decided to seek protection by asking his father for a plade to hide and the offer was only for him, not for her. He took it, abandoning her. Two years together on the streets, riding the same car, wielding the uniform together, and then he had just left her to face the anger of half the city alone. "... that I don't know. You should ask your mother, she had told me a lot of things the other day, when I had screwed her like no man had ever done so before."

A scream of anger, a butchers knife, then his hand was gone. Someone screamed. Jaime needed a few moments to realize, that he was the one screaming, he had nearly not recognized his own voice. So hoarse and raspy.

He lost consciousness a few moments later.

-

There were voices he did not recognize. Whispering. Pulling him from the darkness that whirled around his head.

For the blink of an eye he saw something. A face. Or something resembling a face.

The he fell back into the darkness.

-

When he wakes up, he finds himself inside a small room, barely bigger than his wardrobe back at his old apartment. An apartment by now most likely turned into a smoking hole, the guys he had pissed off had a tendency to blow up their enemies homes, preferably with them inside.

His hand, his missing hand, is bandaged and his wounds have been cleaned and taken care of. He still feels like shit though and he get's the feeling, that this will remain so for the next months. It all feels like a dream, like this is a fantasy he tells himself not to face the harsh reality.

When Tyrion waddles into the room and tells him about barely surviving, he really is sure this is a dream. Because Tyrion is dead, had been so for the last five years. Not that his father had ever really searched for him, but anyway, he was dead, so this was a dream.

And there is Brienne, whole and healthy and giving him that strange smile she always had on her lips whenever he had either done something incredibely stupid or incredibely brave. Most of the time, both at once. Yes, this has to be a dream. But he don't care. He does not want to wake up. Especially not when they tell him of their crusade against crime, drugs and terror in the city, of their one woman war against all that what is wrong and unjust.

Quite the entertaining thought and he can not help but laught at that. "So, you are the new Direwolf now? The one taking up the mantle, fighting for good and justice?"

"Jaime, we will need your help", Tyrion says to him with a smirk instead of replying to that. "Brienne does what she can and I give my best with her equipment and everything, but it is not enough. She needs help. And as you know, my martial skills are a bit rusty."

Jaime raises his eyebrows but gives her a cocky smile. "Wench, is that true? Do you really need my help in your fight against injustice and corruption?"

She does not answer but only scowls at him. That is answer enough for him. She had always been easy to read.

"So, am I to be your partner again?"

"I thought more about sidekick", his dead brother tells him. "I have even finished a costume for you, with shorts."

"Aw, seven hells, no!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another group of heroes will rise. I think Brienne is the perfect Superman like goody two shoes and Jaime her perfect counter balance. Anyway, don't worry, he will not wear shorts.


	8. 8. Sandor Clegane II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people need a kick in the ass to get up again. Others a knife to the gut.

He had heard from the death of the Direwolf in a dirty, rundown pub with piss poor beer and even piss poorer customers. To be honest, by then the news was months old, but Sandor had not heard much about the world around him when he had began to crawl into the bottle and did not come out again for long years of pain, frustration and anger.

Some drunken wannabee gangsters had laughed about it, telling how now the street belonged to them again. Things got out of hand when the bartender, an old guy with a dirty temper, heard it. Apparently the man had a soft spot for the hero. And also a shotgun and a heavy baton hidden behind the counter.

Sandor doesn't remember much from the night, only a splitting heacache and that he woke up covered in grime and puke, laying behind the bar in some sidestreet. At least no one had robbed him, most likely everyone had been too out by the state he had been in.

Groaning he had pulled himself up to the feet and made his way home, not bothering with a cab. Which taxi-driver in his right mind would drive him anywhere?

It had been somewhere between Fisher-Street and Square-Garden, that it had happened. A female scream of fear, a male laugh, some shouting. The first thing that had come to mind, had been the faces of the girls Joffrey, the shit, had beaten half to death. Perhaps that had been the reason why he had not done the smart thing and just walked away, but ran into the alley at full speed.

Why he had pulled one of the men from the woman and broke his nose. Why he had began to breake bones and throw a man head first into a concrete stone wall. It was all just so blurry in his memory, so unclear. There was pain and fury and snarling and finally, suddenly, a knife in his gut. And then again and again and again.

Perhaps it had been the alcohol or the pain or he had just gone crazy, but there had been this figure, this lovely, fucking colorful figure kicking but like some kind of avenging angel. With just the perfect little, round ass in a way too tight spandex suit.

-

It was only a week later that he was released from the hospital with several stitches in his stomach and disbelieving doctors watching him walk out on his own. "You're one tough customer, aren't you? I've seen attack dogs less hardy than you", one of them had said to him, perhaps as a compliment, perhaps as a comment on his stupidity.

Sandor had only snarled and clutched the paper more tightly in one hand. The newspaper with the article about a whole pack of Direwolves running through the city at night, beating up junkies and small time gangsters and one corrupt cop or another.

Two days later he hired as a taxi-driver.

And another two days later he bought a fucking fedora, a black coat and a black suit with enough room for a kevlar west underneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Sandor becomes the Hound, the toughest, hardest piece of shitty gum-shoe there ever was.


	9. 9. Catelyn Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once she had played a vastly different role. A femme-fatale, a thief, a criminal, an heiress. Now she is a mother.

She had hoped to escape from the world of masks, capes and crime. Escape from a world of fake smiles and cover-up stories and waking up in the middle of the night fearing for your family. There had been Brandon with his dazzling smile and his stupid, big mouth and then his funeral and the sad eyes of his plainer, somber brother Ned.

Her Ned. The best thing which had ever happened to her. Her escape from a life of lies and trouble, guns, knifes, endless training and cover-up stories for broken bones and scratches.

Only he had never been hers. He had only pulled her deeper into that world. Because he had always been more involved in this world even more than herself had been. When she had stumbled unto his secret, after a night of sweet lovemaking and too much wine and ale, she had fled from his home.

And had returned a day later with an explanation. "I don't know why you have a ninja-cave under your mansion, but you will tell me when the time is right. I will keep your secret, for it is my secret now too."

"How can I trust you?", he had asked her, his face ashen but stony. "How can I be sure you will not betray me?"

"By knowing that I love you. I love you so much it hurts and it will never stop hurting. And because then you can expose me and my family."

He had not understood, not at all.

"My name is not Catelyn Gordon. My real name is Catelyn Tully, daughter of Hoster Tully, Don of the Tully-Crime-Family."

And now, so many years later, her husband was dead. The night had taken him, like she had always known it would happen. Sooner or later this world takes what is hers and doesn't give it back. Is it a wonder she doesn't want her children exposed to that world? Doesn't want them endangered?

Yet it is too late now and she can only do her best to prepare them, make them ready for torture, rape, drugs, violence and a brutal world in which every step can be your last one. It breaks her heart and she dies every day when she sees them with fire in their eyes, preparing, training, hoping to step into their father's footsteps.

How could she ever hope to sleep when her children are out there fighting psychopaths and junkies and criminal scum? How could she ever forgive herself when they come home hurt and she had not prepared them enough? With subjects like "The Goat", "The Red Woman", "The Mountain" out there, she knew that she had to do her best to keep her children safe. And if that means torturing them with training and preparations, then be it so.

She kicks Arya's ass in the practice ring because she knows that out there are people who would do a lot worse things to her. She goes over Bran's design notes with him and tells him outright when he is creating bullshit, because faulty equipment tends to get people killed. She ties Sansa to a chair and stops the time she needs to free herself and next time she sedates her daughter first. She dresses Rickon in a bulletproof vest and shoots him for he would sooner or later experience that and then she kisses it better because he will always be her baby.

And she gives Robb a small book. "Your father had kept a list of contacts, criminals and alikes in this. He was oldfashioned that way, he never truly trusted computers. Make good use of it."

When she sees the confused look on her son's face at opening it, she smirks and before he can ask she already tells him: "Ah yes, the code it is written in... Well, you will crack it. Perhaps. After all, you are the Direwolf, are you not?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about going into the details of her children's themes and costumes, but it somehow turned into a small insight into the inner workings of a mother in a very unusual situation.


	10. 10. Asha Greyjoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha Greyjoy, a cop whose hands are not completely dirty, has an unusual encounter.

She was corrupt, she admitted it. She had made deals with small time crooks, smugglers and drug dealers, with the guy who ran an illegal gambling den in the back of his dingy pub and with several of the girls downtown. Not that said girls wouldn't talk with her anyway, her family name made them jump alone, but hey, if she got money out of it, why should she decline.

That of course didn't mean, that she was a bad person. Certainly not. Sitting on her desk, filling out reports which had been filled out three weeks ago, Asha felt the urge to throw everything against the wall and set fire on it. The chief wouldn't throw her out, no one would, she was too good for that. She was the best damn gumshoe there was in the entire beat, she had the best quote of successfull interrogations, had the most closed cases, damn, she even was the best shot.

Plus, the chief was shivering in his boots whenever her family name was mentioned. Not that she did it, she didn't have too and neither did she enjoy it, but it had it's uses to be the daughter of a kingpin, niece of a known murderer and an upstanding shipping magnat. Yeah, as if nuncle Vic was anything as upstanding.

Still, there were days like these, when she wanted to set the entire station. When crime was apparantly not stopping, when lunatics were running around in tights and capes and yet another killed girl was found, partly flayed.

Everytime that happened, when another body was found, mutilated and flayed, she thought of her baby brother, her poor, small defensless, foolish little brother. Yeah, he had been idiotic and self absorbed and way too full of himself, but still, he had not deserved this. No one deserves such a fate, except perhaps that Ramsay freak himself. When she gets her hand on him, she would cut off his dick and feed it to a goat before plucking out his eyes and sew his mouth shut to let him starve to death.

Even drowning was too good for that sicko.

-

It was three hours, about one and a half litres of coffee and several chocolate bars later, that she finally left the station with the intention of going straight home, hit the bed, fuck Stannis so hard that neither he nor she could walk straight any longer and fall into a deep sleep. She threw the beggar with the bad body odor a few coins, opened the door of her car and slid in.

Her plan would have worked perfectly, if she hadn't practically drove right into a major gang. Of course these fuckers must have waited for her, intent on killing on of the last few cops who were actually competend and not too dirty.

One minute she was stopping on a red light, the next her car was rammed from behind and the sides and people started firing with assault weapons at her. "FUCK!!!"

She grabbed the shotgun from under the co-drivers seat, a small private joke for her, and just tried to stay alive. She had no idea how she managed that, how she made it through the first two minutes with only scratches, before her ammunition was empty and she was pulled out of the car.

Well, that was it. She would die a dirty, ugly death, she knew it. She would be raped and gangraped and finally thrown to the dogs and left to rot, she just knew that it would happen. Well, at least, she thought to herself, she would make a pretty corpse.

And then, to her own surprise and disbelive, she was saved.

It had not been other cops, those wouldn't lift a finger for her, and neither had they been a rival gang. No, these guys had been something else. Something completely else.

A bunch of crazies in mask taking on armed thugs with fists and knives and acrobatics. Snarling and howling and grunting more like beasts than like human beings, beating the bad guys to bloody pulps. It was like in those old comics Theon had red when he had been a kid, all dirty and grim and brutal.

Four creeps in masks had kicked the bad guys asses. And hell, Asha loved every second of it like she had been sitting in a movie. However, in the end, she could only describe a single one of them. One had been a girl or woman in a tight, colorful, dashing catsuit and one had been a small whirlwind of fury and blades and there had been an even shorter man-beast with claws instead of hands, but she could only realle remember the fourth one.

There had been the big guy, broad and dark, all grim and threatening. If she would ever see him in a dark corner, she would turn around and walk away as soon as she could. Long cape, threatening mask, all black and grey, he had the complete package. Was this the legendary Direwolf, terror of the Underworld, star of her juvenile wet dreams? Wasn't he dead?

She could not say, not really. Because he looked quite alive to her. And she thought, next time she would pleasure herself, HE would be the star of her fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again I could not go into details for every of the vigilantes. But hell, I think it turned out allright.


	11. 11. Stannis Baratheon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judge Stannis has a plan.

Asha had nearly been killed by a gang, ambushed on her way home. He himself had nearly been killed in a sidestreet. Politicians were dirty. Cops were dirty. People had lost all hope. Psychopath's were walking the city streets and walking free out of court.

There had to be something done. There just had to be done something against it. And he fucking was a judge, a good one. But more than that, he was a Baratheon.

So he had decided to do something he wouldn't have done under any other circumstances, no matter how dire: He visited his brother. Hotshot DA that Renly was, he lived in a posh penthouse somewhere uptown, near the beating, living heart of the city. The whole appartment gave Stannis the shivers, all these modern paintings and designer furniture, the expensive decorations and the smell of all new, nothing old.

"You're out of your mind", Renly told him outright when he proposed his idea. Of course only after his younger brother had understood, that he had not made any jokes but was dead serious. At first Renly had laughed, then he had looked at him, then he had been horrofied.

"Stan..." That dreaded nickname again, yet he let it pass, for now. "Stan, you're crazy if you think you will survive. If you think I will survive this."

Stannis frowned and clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. "This is justice. This is only right. No one is above the law, no matter how terrified everyone is of them. Get a team, make it happen."

"I can't just snap my fingers and have good cops appear out of thin air. I'm only the DA, not some wizard. And even if, you still need a talented captain, one who is not afraid of the dark and not getting his paycheck signed by this kingpin or that." Renly took a sip from his whiskey. He spoke it as if that was a dismissal, as if the argument was done with that. Of course it wasn't.

"Barristan Selmy."

Again Renly stared at him, then massaging his temples. "You will not stop on this, will you?", he asked with a hint of resignation. "I admit, Barristan Selmy is a capable man. But he is only three years away from pension. And even IF, and that is a big if, he would accept, one captain is not enough. He would need a good, reliable team, a team that is neither dirty nor cautious. Because, let's speak open here, what you propose could be their death if they do it."

And again Stannis frowned at his younger brother, before answering. Because he had of course done his homework beforehand. What did Renly take him for, a fool? "Jon Snow, Loras Tyrell, Davos Seaworth, Dacey Mormont, Beric Dondarrion, Osha Tena."

Renly groaned. "You have really thought this through, haven't you?" He got no reply, just as he thought it would be. Finally he sighed. "Look, I know you will not stop pestering me about this. So just shut up, let me think about it for a while and I will contact you when I have decided, allright?"

It wasn't like he would get any more out of him, so Stannis did just that.

-

When he had been married, sexuality had always been something unpleasant for Stannis. Neither he nor Selyse had been very comfortable with one another, nor with themselves, so being together had been... stiff, like a duty.

With Asha it was wild. They moaned and grunted, bit each other more than they kissed, the bed was rarely used as more often the ground, the kitchen counter or the couch had to serve for this purpose. There had been mornings when he had to spend an hour after getting up with cleaning up the traces from their frantic fucking. He wouldn't call it making love, not in a thousand years, because he did not love her. He desired her, he wanted to bend her over the counter and ram his cock into her hot behind, yet he did not love her.

Just as it had been now.

Renly had called him in the middle of the night and told him only one word: Yes. Of course Asha had wanted to know what this had been about and he had explained it. And then she had been pissed at him for not including her. And he had told her that she was simply unsuited for this task. And, what else could have happened, then they had fought.

Yelling, cursing, threatening and finally even punching, him slapping her, her jumping at him from behind and going down with him on the ground. Kicking, screaming, hurting, punching and then suddenly kissing and fucking.

She still hit him when he entered her and forced her body against the wall, he still grabbed her wrists hard when she rode him. And hell, it felt good.

Neither Stannis nor Asha noticed the pair of eyes peering into the appartment from the roof across the street. Only for a few moments though, as soon as the scene was identified as what it was, the figure slid back into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to think ages about who could make a good cop in this universe. I wanted at least one woman in the team and after I thought about it, I wanted a second one. And hell, it's really hard to find one which is suitable for this job, especially as Brienne wasn't an option... So I took Osha, gave her the last name of the actress who plays her in the TV-series and, tada, I have created a special police task force.
> 
> Well, sort of.


End file.
